


& I Will Try to Fix You

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and Newt are two sides of the same coin. Both have been through terrible ordeals in the past, but while one is now content with his life, the other continues to struggle. They've never met, but when Newt comes back to school after living in a psychiatric hospital for almost a year, Thomas feels the need to reach out to him. Talk to him. Befriend him, and to Newt's surprise, the pushy brunet became the very reason he finally decided to hold on to the life he wanted so desperately to get rid of.</p><p>[/ ᴅɪsᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Year, A New Face

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Most (if not all) of the characters in this work are owned by James Dashner, author of 'The Maze Runner' series. I am not affiliated with James Dashner in any way. This was written for enjoyment, and given that it takes place in an alternate universe, certain changes and personal character choices have been made to the characters. This story is based on the song "Fix You" by Coldplay.
> 
> WARNING: This work contains references to alcohol, drug, and child abuse; this work also deals with matters of depression, anxiety, suicide, and self-harm. If any of these subjects are triggering for you, I suggest you exit your browser or close the tab immediately.

Thomas Greene loved to learn. He was a natural creative thinker who enjoyed coming across new problems to solve, from puzzles to algebraic equations. Thomas had an unexplained, unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and while this is an absolute fact, he didn’t believe that school was the best place for education. The teachers who obviously didn’t care about and were terrible at their job ruined it for the students who wanted to learn, and the students who didn’t want to learn ruined it for the teachers who did care and were excellent at their job.

Combining that with the social, awkward punishment, the never-ending gossiping and rumor-spreading ruining the lives of others, and the occasional, petty fist fights that broke out amongst students, school was one of the worst places to be.

Nonetheless, when the new school year started, Thomas did his best to keep a positive attitude in order to survive the torture. He was only a junior, sure, giving him two more years of high school to crawl through, but ‘give up’ wasn’t exactly in his vocabulary. Nothing the year could offer—no off-the-wall rumor or stupid fight—would bring him down, because he was confident that it was going to be a relatively decent one.

Thomas typically rode to school with his best friend from the Track team, Minho, and today was no different. As much as he would love to go one day without Panic! At the Disco blasting on the stereo (and it wasn’t so much the band that often drove Thomas crazy, but his friend’s tendency to yell the lyrics rather than sing them), it was still better than the alternative; driving his sister and her friends around, having to put up with some boy band he never bothered remembering the name of.

“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to scream the songs,” Thomas said as he walked into the main lobby of the school, Minho walking beside him. Minho was a tall, muscular Asian boy that Thomas had met in elementary school. Though they hadn’t gotten along very well at first, Minho being a whole year older and quite obnoxious, their playful competitiveness is what brought them together.

“Does it annoy you?” Minho asked, a grin plastered on his face. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“Then scream I shall.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. As much as he loved the older boy, seeing him as a brother of sorts (or an annoying cousin), even he had to admit that, sometimes, he’d love to slam his stupid, smug face into the wall.

The two of them were about to make their way to their lockers when they passed the main office, and Thomas caught a glimpse of a halo of blond hair. It nearly made him trip on his own shoelaces, but he fortunately managed to come to a complete stop without injuring himself (or anybody around him.) The head of disheveled blond hair belonged to a boy, about his age, with pale, ivory skin. The boy was wearing a light sweater, which was an odd choice for August in Florida, and was speaking with the guidance counselor with sad, deep brown eyes.

Thomas wasn’t entirely sure why he was paying so much attention to the boy, but, damn, he was gorgeous.

“Holy shit,” he heard Minho exclaim besides him, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. “No way.”

“What?” Thomas asked. He followed the older boy’s gaze and quickly realized that he, too, had been staring at the mysterious blond. “What is it? You know that guy?”

Minho turned to look at him with a baffled look on his face, as if he were surprised to find out Thomas didn’t recognize the boy in the office. It was actually kind of funny; unless he spoke with them often, Thomas had a tendency to forget faces and the names that went with them. “Dude, that’s Newt,” Minho explained, slapping his friend lightly on the arm. “Newt Lancaster. You seriously don’t remember? He’s the guy that tried to kill himself in the boy’s locker room last year.”

“S-Seriously?”

Thomas felt his heart drop. The introduction was like a slap in the face, although it did definitely explain (kind of) the sad look in the blonde’s eyes. He didn’t know him, but Thomas suddenly wanted to; he had the strange urge to reach out to the boy—reach out to Newt—and hear his story. In a way, he felt like he could relate to the blond, and if something had pushed him to suicide, Thomas wanted to know if he’d gotten help.

Newt’s chat with the guidance counselor seemed to end when she handed him a yellow sheet of paper and gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder, offering a soft, reassuring smile. She said something to him, something Thomas couldn’t make out even by reading her lips, before Newt turned on his heel and left, making his way down the hallways opposite of them. It could have been a mere trick of the eye, but Thomas could’ve sworn he saw the blond limping.

“I didn’t think he’d come back,” Minho mumbled, probably not expecting Thomas to hear him. “He had it pretty rough for a while, from what I heard.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked, though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted an answer.

“I don’t know all the details, man,” Minho said with a shrug. The two of them continued making their way down the hall, and as much as Minho would love to drop the subject, the inquisitive look on Thomas’s face told him that it wouldn’t be possible. “Look,” the older boy sighed, “all I know is that the guy comes from a pretty messed up family. His mom was arrested for drug use or something and a couple of months later he tries downing some pills to off himself. If you ask me, a guy that fucked up probably wants to be left alone.”

They reached their lockers and Thomas, honestly, found this to be one of the times he really wanted to smash Minho’s face in a wall. The brunet couldn’t help but shove his notebooks and gym clothes into his locker, frustrated with his friend’s blunt statement. How could he say something so heartless about a guy he didn’t even know? Oddly enough, it only made Thomas want to talk to Newt even more. Surely the boy couldn’t be as ‘fucked up’, as Minho worded it, as the older boy made him out to be. The blond seemed pretty normal to him; just a little sad, like he needed someone to talk to.

It became Thomas’s silent decision to be that person, to approach Newt the next time he saw him. The least he could do was introduce himself.

ᴥ

As it turned out, Newt was in Thomas’s creative writing class and trigonometry class. It was also apparent that everybody aside from Thomas knew about the blond, and not five minutes before class even started gossip was floating around the classroom about the poor guy. From what he could gather, after his attempted suicide Newt had been admitted to a mental hospital, where he’s remained for the past ten months; because of this, he has to repeat the eleventh grade. There was also something about him living with foster parents, but by then Thomas had tuned out.

Newt was sitting in the very back of the classroom, and seeing as how every other student in the room was taking the chance to openly avoid him, Thomas sought the opportunity to take the empty seat beside him. The desks weren’t very close, but they were close enough for him to lean over and talk to the blond without too much suspicion.

When the brunet glanced over, he noticed Newt’s leg shaking. His hands were tightly clasped together; so tight, in fact, his knuckles were turning white. The blond seemed nervous, and Thomas couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Without putting much thought into it, he decided to lean in slightly, hoping to get the older boy’s attention. “Uh, hi,” Thomas said softly.

The blonde’s muscles twitched, as if he’d been deep in thought and the unexpected greeting snapped him back into reality. Newt looked over at Thomas, the frightened look in his chocolate-like eyes making him look like a deer in headlights. It only took him a brief moment to regain his composure, but he still seemed a tad anxious.

“What?” Newt asked. This made Thomas quirk his brow.

“All I said was ‘hi’,” the brunet explained, putting on a soft smile in an attempt to assure the other boy he didn’t mean any harm.

“Oh, um… Hi.”

Newt’s voice was dripping with a thick, British accent, making Thomas wonder if he’d lived in Florida all his life or if he’d transferred from England at some point. Pushing that thought aside, he decided to ask about Newt’s nervousness, seeing as how the blond turned his attention away from him and back to his hands. “Are you okay?” Thomas asked.

“Fine,” Newt replied, without even skipping a beat. “I’m fine.”

Thomas didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Newt really wasn’t in the mood for talking. When his knuckled went completely white, the blond resorted to biting his thumbs. Whatever was bothering him, it sure seemed to be doing a number on his nerves. Perhaps it was the fact that this was his first day back in school after living in a mental hospital for almost a year, or maybe there was some other reason for it. Nonetheless, Thomas couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

When Newt refused to even look at him, Thomas decided that the time for small talk was officially over.

ᴥ

During lunch, Thomas sat with Minho, his step-sister Teresa, and Teresa’s friend Sonya. At first Thomas wasn’t sure whether or not he should tell them about his conversation with Newt, especially Minho, but surprisingly enough it was Sonya who brought him up. “Newt was in your trigonometry class earlier, wasn’t he, Thomas?” she asked, twirling her spaghetti around with her fork.

Thomas had been drowning his carrot sticks in ranch when the strawberry-blonde brought his attention back to reality. Normally she would ignore him completely and either spend her time chatting with Teresa or flirting with Minho, so he found it odd that she’d chosen to speak to him and about Newt, no less.

“Uh, yeah. He was. Why?”

For some reason, Sonya bit her lower lip. Her hazel eyes started darting around the room, as if she were checking to see if anybody besides the four of them were listening. She looked strangely suspicious, and Thomas was suddenly anticipating her next words. “Because,” Sonya began, lowering her voice slightly, “I heard he didn’t show up for the first half of his last class. You see, he’s going to be staying with my family from now on, and since I don’t see him all day, I get a little anxious when I can’t check up on him. I mean, you know, because of his, uh, history.”

Thomas wasn’t sure if Minho had actually choked on his water, having been too dumbfounded by Sonya’s explanation. As it turned out, the rumors were true; Newt had been in the care of foster parents and Sonya, coincidentally, was how his foster sister. What were the odds?

“That psycho’s your foster brother?” Minho asked, trying to keep his voice down. Without really thinking about it, Thomas smacked him on the back of the head for the ‘psycho’ comment.

“Don’t be an ass,” Teresa scolded, though honestly she seemed detached from the conversation. With how close she and Sonya were, the chances were that she probably already knew about Newt.

“He’s not a psycho,” Sonya protested. “He’s a really sweet guy and, well, given that it’s been one crap storm after another for him the past couple years, I can’t help but worry about him. You know?”

Wait a second. Years? Had Thomas heard her right? “I thought he was only in the hospital for ten months?” he asked, unintentionally blurting the question at.

Much like before, Sonya bit her lip and glanced around the cafeteria. She looked somewhat more anxious than she had a few moments ago. It was beginning to seem as if she kept saying all of the wrong things at the wrong time. “Well, to be honest, I don’t really know all the details,” Sonya admitted. “What I do know, though, is that his father and little sister were killed in a car accident about four years ago. I guess after that his mom became an alcoholic or something and started beating on him. It was only last year that she was finally busted for it and arrested.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Thomas could see Minho looking away, obviously feeling terrible about the harsh judgements he’d made about the blond before. He glanced over to the far end of the cafeteria where he found Newt sitting alone, his lunch barely touched and eyes glued to a book Thomas couldn’t identify. Knowing at least a little of what had happened to him suddenly made it heartbreaking to watch him eat by himself—not that he was really eating.

“I told him to sit with us,” Sonya went on, her eyes downcast, “but he said he didn’t want to bother anyone. Even at home he spends most of his time alone. I guess it’s still hard for him to be around other people.”

“It sounds more like a trust issue to me,” Thomas mumbled, not expecting any of them to hear. The brunet took one last look over at Newt, debating whether or not he should move over to and sit with him. If Newt wanted to be alone, he figured it would be best to give him his space, but at the same time Thomas couldn’t shake the want to help him. _The same way I was helped._

Sonya and the other’s continued talking, though it seemed their conversation had somehow changed from Newt to Homecoming themes; probably because Sonya was on the student counsel and was in charge of such things. Not particularly interested in the topic himself, Thomas decided that he would take his lunch and move to the table where Newt sat. However, when he turned around, the blond had vanished.

ᴥ

Newt hid inside the boy’s locker room throughout the rest of lunch, much like he had earlier when he couldn’t bring himself to go to class right away. He was starting to wonder why he thought going back to school was a good idea, and why he hadn’t taken his therapist’s suggestion to be homeschooled. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to be more of a burden than he already was on the people he was forced to live with, or maybe it was part of the act to get his therapist off his back, saying that he can’t hide from people forever. Whatever the reason, Newt was really starting to regret it.

Even before first period was over, he grew tired of the rumors and gossip. He grew tired of the curious eyes following him everywhere he went, and he especially grew tired of forcing himself to ignore it. It wasn’t that he’d rather have people simply ask him their questions—frankly he’d much rather shove scissors in his ears—but he didn’t see a reason for it. People seem to have a tendency to talk about matters that either didn’t concern them or they didn’t understand, and Newt really wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

When his head started to feel numb from his constant hair-pulling, Newt wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling them closer to his chest and resting his head on his knees. The locker room was quiet, which he liked. He positioned himself in one of the farther corners of the room, right between a rock of lockers and a towel wrack. Despite the odor that always seemed to linger in the room, a bizarre mixture of soap and sweat, it was one of the better hiding places in the school since it was only used for gym classes and sports, all of which generally took place in the afternoon. Other than that, it was always empty, allowing him to be completely alone.

Newt closed his eyes, trying to forget all of the rumors that had already spread about him, though he knew it was a meaningless effort. He knew he couldn’t avoid the problem forever; rumors would continue to fly, but it wasn’t like he was the only victim of gossip. No matter how many times he told himself that, however, it never seemed to help.

_Why can’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?_

He wanted to talk to Alby, his one and _only_ friend. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and cry, not caring how pathetic he looked or felt, but he couldn't. He couldn't because Alby was gone, attending college in Colorado or some other state that started with a 'C'. Honestly, Newt couldn't remember, and he didn't care. As much as he hated himself for being so selfish, he wished Alby hadn't gone. The older boy had a certain way with words and new exactly how to make him feel better, even if it only for a short while. It was Alby who'd found him in the locker room when he swallowed all of those pills, wanting so desperately to make the pain go away, and while he hated that he was still alive because of him, Newt knew his intentions were only good.

God, he missed Alby.

It was the wringing of the school bell that snapped Newt out of his thoughts and back into reality, nearly making him jump out of his skin. Quiet time was over, he realized, and he had no choice but to grab his backpack and trudge off to advanced biology.

Newt _really_ didn’t want to go to class.


	2. Say Something (I'm Not Giving up on You)

The Glade was a small coffee shop downtown, not that the city really needed another coffee shop. The walls were decorated with large, framed movie posters (mostly of monster movies such as _Tremors_ and _Godzilla_ ) and paper lanterns lined the walls, despite the owner of the business not being Chinese (or Asian); not that it really mattered. There was a small stage in the front of the building where live music would be played every Friday night by garage bands only the regular customers knew about. All in all it was a nice little business, though it seemed more like a teen hangout than anything else. Many kids Thomas went to school with went there and he rarely saw any adults. Even the owner was only in her early twenties.

Thomas and Minho had stopped by the Glade on their way home, as per usual. The shop had only been open for a year or so, but to the two of them it felt like ages. Out of all of the coffee shops in the city, the Glade was probably their favorite. The coffee and music were great, so there was nowhere else they’d rather go to kill some time.

“Why are you so hung up on this guy?” Minho asked. “Up until a few hours ago, you didn’t even know who he was!”

No matter how hard he tried, Thomas couldn’t get Newt out of his mind. Regardless of what he and Minho talked about, the conversation would always somehow drift back to the lonely blond. He was sure it only made him sound creepy, but at least the older boy wasn’t calling him out on it. “I just feel like I can help him, you know?” Thomas explained, absently dumping a third packet of creamer into his coffee. “I mean, I can kind of understand what he’s going through. If I can help him the way you helped me—”

“Stop.” Minho put up his hand, as if to enforce the demand. “Thomas, that’s not your responsibility. Every situation’s different.”

“I know that,” Thomas argued, “but even still it’s a lot easier when you have someone to help you through it.”

“Okay, but what if he doesn’t want your help? You said so yourself, and so did Sonya! He wants to be left alone.”

Thomas fell silent, putting his focus back into stirring his coffee. He knew Minho had a point, but the brunet still didn’t see the problem with wanting to help Newt. When he was having problems of his own two years ago, it was Minho who pulled him through it. When his parents were fighting, it was him he turned to; when his parents divorced or when he wanted to hang himself, Minho was there. He was there through it all, and Thomas couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want him to do the same for someone else.

There was silence between them for several moments, both of them drinking their coffee and letting the music flood their ears. Thomas mindlessly watched as storm clouds rolled in over the city, praying that it wouldn’t start raining before he could get home. “You just can’t help some people,” he heard Minho say quietly.

Looking over at him, Thomas could see that Minho was deep in thought, probably contemplating everything they’d said. Though sarcastic and judgmental at times, the older boy truly was a good person. Perhaps he wanted to help Newt as much as Thomas did, but since they weren’t acquainted he had no idea how to approach him. Maybe that was why he was so against it.

“Look,” Minho sighed, pushing his empty coffee cup to the side, “if you really want to involve yourself with him, I’m not going to stop you. Probably couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I’m not trying to say you’ll just end up making things worse. I’m just saying… He might not warm up to you that easily.”

Thomas bit his lip, taking Minho’s words into consideration. The older boy really didn’t have anything against Newt; he was just worried about the outcome, everything that could potentially go wrong. While his concern was understandable and appreciated, Thomas had already made up his mind.

“Well, I’ve never turned down a challenge before.”

ᴥ

The storm had come practically out of nowhere. Weather reports claimed that it would remain sunny for the rest of the week, not a cloud in the sky, and yet by seven o’clock the city had been completely engulfed in a thick blanket of dark clouds. About a half hour later thunder boomed and lightning flashed, and by eight o’clock rain began to pour heavily, making it almost impossible to see five feet in front of you.

It was about ten-thirty, and the storm continued to rage on. Despite having gone to bed early, Newt hadn’t been able to get ten minutes worth of sleep, though it wasn’t because of the storm. He actually found the rain quite relaxing, and the sound of thunder or a flash of lightning never seemed to bother him.

The reason for his sleeplessness was that his brain simply wouldn’t shut up. A hundred thoughts were racing through his mind all at once, keeping him awake. He remembered in the hospital how he would think about his father or his sister; he’d think about his mother, and when he thought of them he’d start crying and wouldn’t stop crying until he somehow managed to fall asleep. For some reason he couldn’t do that now. Newt couldn’t bring himself to cry anymore, so he was stuck with his thoughts.

There was another flash of lightning. Newt pulled the blankets over his head; not because he was afraid, but because the light was hurting his already strained eyes. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing his thoughts away. If he could just get one night’s worth of sleep, maybe he could make it through school without having to run away and hide.

Newt pushed the thoughts of his family away. He tried to ignore the image of his sister running around his bedroom, begging him to play with her while he was trying to study algebra. He refused to acknowledge the thought of his father trying to convince him that fishing was the perfect way to teach patience. He brushed off the memory of his mother lecturing him to spend more time outside instead of spending all of his time with his nose in a book.

He tried desperately not to think about how his family was suddenly ripped away from him; the guilt of surviving the car wreck whereas his father and sister had suffered, or having stood aside while his mother drank her pain away, watching as her life spiraled downward.

He tried not to think about how useless he was.

For some reason, while trying not to think about his family, Newt’s thoughts drifted to the boy from his trigonometry class. He didn’t recognize him, nor did he get why the brunet bothered talking to him. A part of him felt bad for practically ignoring the boy. After all, he was the first person to actually _talk_ to him, and he seemed nice enough. Then again, Newt couldn’t say whether or not the boy was a contributor to the various rumors spreading around the school about him, not that it mattered. 

Newt rolled his eyes, turning over in his bed. He was tired of thinking, and sleep was starting to come a little easier. Five minutes passed and Newt somehow managed to drift off.

ᴥ

The next day at school, Thomas decided to put his plan into motion. He’d been up for hours last night trying to think of a way to casually approach Newt without scaring him off. The blond didn’t seem too keen on conversation yesterday, and the last thing Thomas wanted to do was make him feel uncomfortable.

Eventually he came up with the idea to find the older boy during their free period. With any luck Thomas could make it look like a pure coincidence that he’d bumped into him.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t have to ask many people where he could find Newt when regular classes weren’t taking place. While Sonya didn’t know, her friend, Aris, did. “He spends every free second he gets in the library,” Aris explained with a shrug. “Sometimes he reads, other times he does homework. Usually he’s just sleeping.”

Thomas thanked the younger boy and made his way to the library. Since the school was so big, they had a pretty decent sized library. Instead of simply alphabetizing all of the books, they were all separated by genre; fiction and non-fiction, mystery, horror, and so on. Though he didn’t go often, not even to study, Thomas could admit he appreciated how neat and organized everything was.

It was as Aris had said. When he stepped into the library, Thomas immediately spotted blond hair in the back of the room—Newt. Paper, homework supposedly, and textbooks were scattered around him; he seemed to be pretty busy. Thomas almost hesitated, but before he could back out and forget the whole thing his legs started moving. _I only want to help,_ he told himself, over and over.

The library was practically empty save for one or two other students, plus Newt and himself. Thomas didn’t want to make it look as if he were purposefully making his way over toward the blond, though he saw no other way around it. He couldn’t beat around the bush, and the closer he got he realized Newt wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings anyway. _Better now than never._

“Hey,” Thomas said softly, waving his hand in the hopes of getting the blonde’s attention.

Newt didn’t look up for several silent moments, and Thomas wasn’t sure if he didn’t hear him or was just ignoring him. After a solid minute, the blond finally stopped reading and looked up. His brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but his distorted expression quickly melted back into one of somber indifference. He didn’t look nearly as nervous as he did the last time Thomas saw him, but there was still a hint of anxiousness, as if he were caught lying in an investigation.

“What do you want?” Newt asked, voice just barely above a whisper. While he didn’t necessarily sound angry or annoyed, Thomas was beginning to get the impression that now wasn’t the best time for talking.

“Oh, um, sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to be alone.”

“No—No, I just… I’m sorry. That was rude. Can I help you with something?”

Now really wasn’t the time, but Thomas couldn’t help lingering on the older boy’s accent. His voice was already soft and pleasant to listen to; the British accent just made him sound even more attractive than he already looked. _Wait, what?_ Thomas pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to be making goo-goo eyes at somebody he barely knew.

Thomas scratched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of something to say. “No, actually. I was, uh… I just, you know, I saw you sitting by yourself, and I thought you looked a little lonely. I thought you could, um, you could use some company. I mean… I thought you’d like some company.” _Nailed it._

Newt didn’t say anything, and Thomas couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn’t tell if the older boy was taking his words into consideration or if his silence was screaming “beat it.” Aside from the sadness he’d seen in his eyes, it was almost impossible for Thomas to read him.

After another minute—another awkward, silent minute—Newt opened his mouth, but unless Thomas suddenly went deaf, no words were coming out. The blond averted all eye contact, putting his attention back to his homework. He mumbled something under his breath that Thomas couldn’t quite understand.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"It's fine. I said it's fine."

Thomas sighed, relieved that he didn’t blow his chance to get to know this guy. Not entirely, anyway. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the blond was slightly uncomfortable. If he were to be completely honest, Thomas couldn’t blame him.

Taking the seat across from Newt, setting his backpack down beside him, Thomas noticed that he wasn’t as completely fixated on his homework as he probably wanted to be. His eyes were glued to the text, but whenever he tried to right something down his hand froze. It was sad to watch. _Crap,_ Thomas thought. _What if all I’m doing is making him uncomfortable? Maybe I should ask him something… Or maybe this was just a terrible idea._

Thomas inevitably went with the first option, refusing to give up. “So,” he began, leaning in slightly to get a better look at Newt’s homework, “is that biology homework?”

"Advanced biology, yes."

"Petersen's class, right? Need any help?"

"Not particularly. No."

"Oh, um... Okay."

This wasn’t working. As the minutes flew by, Newt did seem to get more invested in his work, and Thomas sat there awkwardly, drawing a blank on what to do or what to say. The obvious answer was pull out some of his own homework, but he reminded himself that the only reason he was here was to talk to Newt. He was here to get to know him a little, wanting to help him out of this emotional rut he was in.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done.

Suddenly, and luckily, Thomas was struck with an idea. What was the best way to get to know someone? You ask them questions that _don’t_ involve schoolwork. “Do you like comic books?” Thomas asked, feeling a little guilty for disrupting the concentration Newt spent the past five minutes working on.

The blond stopped writing, looked up at Thomas, but didn’t say anything. This gave Thomas the go-ahead to keep talking. “Superman?” He threw out a suggestion. “Batman? Spiderman?” Complete silence.

"Okay, how about comic book _movies_?"

Silence.

"Monster movies, then?"

Nothing. Newt just stared at him, blinking his pretty doe eyes, looking at him as if he were speaking an alien language. It was insane. Eventually, growing tired of the silence, Thomas sighed heavily, almost groaning in frustration. “Do you like anything?”

“Why are you asking me all of these questions?” Newt finally said, breaking out of whatever trance it looked like he’d been in.

Thomas was taken aback by the question, but answered anyway. Honestly. “Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little. I mean, you’ve been gone a while and I see you by yourself a lot, so I just thought I’d ask you to hang out with me after school or something.”

There was another uncomfortable pause; an uneasy silence that seemed to hang in the air whenever neither of them could think of anything to say, or when Newt’s eyes would widen a tiny fraction in surprise. While definitely not as suffocating as before, it still made Thomas’s stomach tighten with anxiety.

“Why?” Newt finally broke the silence. His voice didn’t sound quite right; he sounded nervous, and Thomas was beginning to wonder if the blond thought he was playing a joke on him. However, that little tingle of nervousness suddenly changed into annoyance as Newt rolled his eyes. “Is this pity?”

"W-What?"

“Please, I’m a complete basket case. You’re either doing this because you pity me or because you were dared to do it and, frankly, I’m more likely to believe the latter. So, if that’s the case, I’d like to be alone, please.”

Thomas couldn’t believe how quickly he’d jumped to conclusions. How did he even come to those kind of conclusions? Have other people approached him like this before? Granted, Thomas honestly did feel bad for him, but Newt was making that out to be a bad thing. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or reasonable.

“No, I…” It took Thomas a moment to gather his thoughts together. “No, I’m not doing this out of pity. I mean, yeah, I do feel terrible about all the shit you’ve had to go through, but that’s not why I’m here.”

"Then why _are_ you here?"

“Because I want to be your friend.” Thomas had said this as if here the most obvious thing in the world, and even more silence fell between them. Newt didn’t retort, and his facial features seemed to soften, making him look less frustrated than he had a moment ago. His eyes seemed full of surprise, and the blond simply stared at him as if he’d sprouted a tail. This allowed Thomas to continue.

“I really mean that, too,” he insisted. “And you're not a basket case. Look, I understand what you’re going through. I really do, but what you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. When I thought the world was against me, I had my friends to help me through it. Now I want to help you just like they helped me. I promise, it’s a lot easier to move on with someone there to support you.”

Much like before, Thomas couldn’t tell what Newt was thinking. He watched as his expression shifted from a subtle shock to a contemplative stare, and the brunet could only hope that he was taking his words to heart. Newt bit his lip, looking at his textbook and at the walls and anywhere else but Thomas. The nervous quirk of clasping his hands together until his knuckles turned white returned, but after a minute that felt like eternity, he started to calm down. And he spoke.

“I was never really interested in comic books,” Newt mumbled, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework. “I prefer novels.”

Miraculously, a tremendous weight had been lifted, and Thomas felt like he could breathe properly again. A triumphant smile had etched its ways onto his lips. Though Newt didn’t really acknowledge anything about his little speech, he was still glad that he said _something_. The blond had revealed the tiniest fraction about himself, and now Thomas was more determined than ever to get more out of him. 

"So, you want to?"

"Do I want to what?"

"Hang out with me after school?"

Newt sighed, and Thomas took it as a 'yes'.


	3. Getting to Know You

Thomas drove himself to school, what with Minho being home sick that day. Having to spend the morning with Teresa and her friends was tolerable (he lied and said the radio was broken), and the gaggle of giggling girls were all part a sports team, so they were staying after school. This meant that he and Newt were completely alone, which was probably for the best. It’d be easier to have proper conversations without Minho making idiotic comments or the girls being, well, themselves.

The two of them had made plans to hang out at Thomas’ house. Actually, it was more along the lines of Thomas doing the planning and Newt simply agreeing with him, not having any suggestions of his own.

Thomas was the designated driver, and it was probably safe to say he wasn’t the best at it. At least that’s what he gathered whenever he noticed Newt tightening his seat belt or quickly putting his hands on the dashboard whenever Thomas slammed on the breaks or when he timed his turns wrong. Alright, so he was a bit of a terrible driver, but since the older boy admitted he didn’t feel very comfortable driving somebody else’s car, there was no other option.

“Sorry,” Thomas apologized, trying to hold back a giggle as Newt tightened his seatbelt for the fourth time. “I’m not going to lie. I actually failed my first two driver’s tests.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say your instructor took pity on you,” Newt said.

“Something like that, yeah.” Thomas noticed that he was halfway passed a curb when he realized he’d almost missed his turn. Without thinking about it, as usual, he quickly turned the wheel in order to get back on track, mumbling several apologies as Newt quickly grabbed onto the dashboard.

Knowing what had happened to the blond in the past, Thomas was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He felt bad whenever he saw him flinch, his eyes widening in a brief moment of terror. Nonetheless, he tried keeping an upbeat and joking demeanor in the hopes of being able to calm Newt’s nerves. He hadn’t been asked to pull over and let him out of the car yet, so Thomas assumed he was doing an okay job.

They were about ten minutes away from his house, so Thomas decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, I still can’t believe your real name is Isaac.”

“My _first_ name is Isaac,” Newt corrected. He sounded indifferent about it, though, like this wasn’t the first time somebody found his name amusing. “’Newt’ comes from my middle name.”

“Isaac Newton.” Thomas couldn’t keep himself from giggling. “Couldn’t they have thrown ‘Sir’ in there, too?”

"Thomas, I've heard that joke all my life. I don't think it's funny."

Sometime during their conversation in the library Thomas realized he hadn’t technically introduced himself to Newt. As it turned out the older boy recognized him from their trigonometry class, so it wasn’t truly necessary, but it did lead to Thomas learning his full name—Isaac Newton Lancaster. He was sure Newt had already heard all the jokes, but he just couldn’t help himself.

"You must be pretty good at math."

"People like you make me hate my name."

There was no real anger behind Newt’s words, so Thomas thought it would be safe to let out a laugh. He didn’t make jokes because he was trying to mean, and, truth be told, he really did like his name. It was so odd and yet somehow very charming, kind of like the blond himself. It suited him.

“It’s a nice name,” Thomas proclaimed. “Very unique. Granted, ‘Newt’ is pretty unique, too, and, hey, I bet nobody ever gets you confused with somebody else. There are, like, five people named ‘Thomas’ in that school.”

"Maybe you should just start calling yourself 'Tommy'."

“Tommy, huh?” Thomas looked over at Newt, who merely shrugged before staring out the window. He already had the nickname ‘Tom’, though only Teresa called him that, but the name ‘Tommy’ had a nice ring to it, too. Hearing it in that accent made it sound even better. _God, I hope he’s not a mind reader or something._

Thomas’s house finally came into view around the corner, and with one more unexpected turn of the wheel, luckily not running over any innocent trash cans, they pulled into the driveway. It was a pretty simple suburban house, almost made completely out of brick; two floors, two parking spaces, the property lined with hedges his mother constantly harangued his step-father about trimming, though in the end he never does.

There was a black sedan parked inside the garage, meaning that Thomas’s parents were home. One of them, at least. “I think my dad’s at work,” Thomas explained, grabbing his backpack from the back seat. “My mom’s probably home, though, and let me tell you she can get a little, uh… Nosy. I hope her game of Twenty Questions won’t scare you away.”

“No, but those dahlia’s might,” Newt said, gesturing toward the wilting flowers in the flowerbed by the front of the house. “Doesn’t anybody water them?”

“My mom does when she gets the time.” Thomas shrugged. “Why, you like flowers?”

“I just don’t see a point in having a garden if nobody’s going to keep it up.”

Newt seemed nonchalant about it, but he seemed to be very focused on the dying flowers. Thomas couldn’t help but smile. _That’s cute,_ he thought.

The two boys made their way inside the house, greeted with the smell of burning bread and multiple curses from the kitchen. They scrunched up their noses, disgusted with the smell. “Mom?” Thomas called out, trying not cough or gag from the smell.

“I’m in the kitchen!” A woman called out, her voice being heard halfway across the living room from the kitchen.

"Yeah, I can tell."

Without being asked, Newt helped Thomas open the living room windows to let out the awful smell and what was left of the smoke. Shortly after, a petite, dark haired woman came out of the kitchen with a hand towel in her hand, coughing slightly and whipping the towel around, trying to fan the smoke away. The boys turned toward her.

“We’re out of bread,” the woman explained, tossing her towel onto the coffee table. “I supposed I could’ve just gone out and bought some, but I thought I’d simply bake some for a change. You know, have nice, fresh bread and whatnot.”

“Mom, you _literally_ can’t bake,” Thomas said, “or cook, like, at all.”

His mother didn’t look offended, though she did roll her eyes. Instead of retorting, she moved her attention over to Newt; the boy she’d never seen before. Suddenly a small smile graced her features. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably haven’t made the best impression, what with the smoke and everything. I’m Jean, Thomas’s mom, but you probably already guessed that, huh?”

Thomas glanced over at Newt, who’d been standing awkwardly for the past two minutes. The blond shook his mother’s hand, somewhat hesitantly, before taking a step backward, as if he were trying to hide from her. When he didn’t say anything, not even his name, Thomas decided to introduce him. “Mom, meet Sir Isaac Newton.”

Newt jabbed his elbow into Thomas’s side, but all Thomas did was snicker. “Mom, this is Newt,” the brunet corrected with a smug grin. “He’s in my trig class.” Thomas could practically feel Newt’s seething glare on the back of his head. He decided to stop with the Isaac Newton jokes.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Jean offered another soft smile. She seemed to have caught on rather quickly that Newt wasn’t one for conversation. Instead of asking a million uncomfortable questions like Thomas feared, his mother left them with a simple, “Make yourself at home.”

ᴥ

Thomas had led them to his bedroom on the second floor. They’d simply decided to watch movies on his laptop, mostly to get away from the awful smell of charred bread, though honestly Newt didn’t particularly care what they did. A small part of him said that the only reason he’d agreed to spend time with Thomas was just to get him to be quiet, and the other part of him was, in an odd way, kind of happy—for lack of a better word.

The brunet was the first and only person—aside from teachers and Sonya—at the school who, instead of fabricating rumors, actually talked to him. Newt wasn’t necessarily in need of anyone to talk to him, or of friends for that matter, but he was at least grateful and relieved to know that not everybody felt the need to spread gossip.

“You’re a lot like your mum,” Newt said, eyes wandering around the room. It was full of posters, mostly of movies and sports teams he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t sure if Thomas had heard him; the younger boy was busy setting up his computer, but when he looked up, giving him a rather inquisitive look, Newt knew he was going to have to explain. “You’re both a little eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” Thomas repeated, a smile stretching his lips. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Newt really didn’t. He never thought of ‘eccentric’ as a negative character trait, and by his smile it didn’t seem Thomas did either. For some reason, the blond felt relieved.

Thomas patted the empty space on the bed, motioning for Newt to sit down next to him, which he did somewhat awkwardly. He noticed that Thomas had pulled up _King Kong_ onto his computer, a film he was vaguely familiar with. “Is this the old one or the remake?”

"The remake. I'm not a big fan of Jack Black, but the CGI doesn't make my eyes bleed."

"The effects in the original were pretty decent considering it was made in the 30's."

"It's still shitty looking."

Newt shrugged. He’d only seen _King Kong_ once or twice in the past and never particularly cared for either version. Movies never really seemed to interest him very much.

Throughout a good chunk of the film, Thomas felt the need to ask various and completely random questions. Neither of them were very invested in what was happening on screen, so perhaps he simply wanted to fill the silence. He asked simple questions, like what his least and favorite foods were, and he asked off-the-wall questions, like who would he switch bodies with for a day if he could.

The questions were harmless, though Newt wasn’t entirely sure how to answer a few of them. When Thomas asked who he’d switch bodies with, he just said Julie Andrew because it was the first person who came to mind. At least the brunet got a laugh out of it.

By the one hour mark, both of them had completely tuned out of the movie. Newt had the vague suspicion that Thomas had only invited him over just to talk about everything and nothing. Not that he really minded. Surprisingly enough, he was enjoying the conversation, even if his face didn’t really show it. As much as he wanted to, Newt never felt his lips crack into a smile—not even once.

“Why do you always wear long sleeves?” Thomas asked. He’d been playing with a rubix cube for the past five minutes, rambling on about something Newt wasn’t paying any attention to, making the question a bit sudden.

Newt hugged his arms subconsciously. His good mood, how little it was, began to drop. “Does it matter?” he countered, avoiding Thomas’s curious gaze. He’d only just met the boy, and there was absolutely no force in heaven or hell that would get him to reveal something _that_ personal.

There was no way he was going to admit to a boy he’d known for less than a day that his sleeves were hiding various cuts, scars, and teeth marks.

“Not, really, no.” Thomas’s brow was quirked. While he didn’t look as if he would press the matter, the brunet still seemed curious. “I was just wondering since, you know, it’s, like, eighty degrees outside. The sweater paws are pretty cute, though.”

Newt found his arms tightening around him, and he could only hope he wasn’t blushing from the younger boy’s idiotic comment. _Don’t say stupid things_ , he wanted to say, but no words came out. The blond never really noticed—or cared—how long the sleeves were on his sweaters. It didn’t matter so long as they were long enough to hide his arms.

Neither of them noticed when the credits started to roll. Newt suddenly found his damaged fingernails very interested and Thomas continued to stare at him, looking as if he were trying to read a foreign language. There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, which finally broke them out of their thoughts.

“Hey there.” It was Jean. “Sorry to barge in, but Thomas how many times do I have to tell you to keep your door open whenever you have friends over?”

“Mom, the house wreaked of burned bread,” Thomas protested with a roll of his eyes. “My room was the only safe haven at the time, and I didn’t want that smell coming in here.”

Jean didn’t really seem angry, but the uncomfortable feeling of being in the middle of a conversation he shouldn’t be returned. It was at time likes these Newt wished he were invisible, especially now that Jean’s attention was turned toward him. “Anyway, Newt, how do you feel about Chinese food? I thought maybe you’d like to stay for dinner.”

 _Oh god._ Newt felt his breath hitch in his throat. When Thomas asked him to hang out with him, this wasn’t the kind of situation he thought he’d end up in. Newt didn’t even really eat with his foster family, or if he did he never said more than a few words to them. The last thing he wanted to do was eat dinner with yet another family he knew little to nothing about.

“No?” Jean looked concerned for a moment, but her eyes quickly widened in surprise; her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. You must be—”

“Mom!” Thomas quickly interjected before his mother could finished. Thank goodness, too. Newt’s mind suddenly went blank. “Mom, he’s not deaf and he’s not mute. Newt’s just, uh… He’s just not a big talker.”

Jean sighed, relieved that she hadn’t just been completely inconsiderate without realizing. Newt felt guilty for giving her that impression, probably making her feel like a fool, and he honestly did want to say something. Anything. But it seemed as if his brain and his mouth weren’t quite on the same page. “No,” he eventually said, “I mean… I’m sorry. Thank you, but I should really be getting home.”

Why was it so difficult to say something so simple?

"Oh, well, alright then. But just so you know, you're welcome here any time."

With a wave of her hand, Jean left. Thomas closed his computer and turned toward Newt with an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. I told you she was a little nosy.”

“She’s nice.” Newt hadn’t really thought about it when he said it, but he wasn’t lying. He liked her, and he liked Thomas, though he couldn’t think of a single reason why. The brunet proved true in his intentions, and his fascination with anything comic book or monster related was quite amusing. So maybe he _could_ think of a reason or two and, yeah, Newt liked him.

"Hey, you smiled!"

Newt had been lost in thought, completely oblivious to Thomas up until now. He guessed that the brunet had been staring at him, but if a smile had actually been on his face it must have faded quickly.

"What?"

"You were smiling. Granted, it was a small smile, and I probably imagined it, but... For the two days I've known you, I've never seen you smile."

"Oh."

"What were you thinking about anyway?"

"Nothing, really. I'm just a little tired, so I was probably just spacing out."

“Tired, huh?” Thomas was giving him the same look Alby would whenever he said he was tired; curiosity laced with concern. Nonetheless, he didn’t say anything more.

Newt grabbed his backpack from the foot of the bed and the two of them made their way downstairs. Thomas had offered to drive him home, but they didn’t live that far apart from one another; only a black or two away from each other. Besides, if Newt were to be honest, he’d feel a lot better walking alone than he would in a car with Thomas. The brunet did, at least, walk with him down the driveway. Odd, but still sort of appreciated.

“Um,” Thomas cleared his throat, stopping by the mailbox to get one last sentence out before they parted ways. What else could he possibly have to say? “You know, I’m gonna be totally honest here, and I hope it doesn’t sound as creepy out loud as it kinda does in my head but,” he pauses for a brief moment, “you have a nice smile.”

Newt’s silent for a minute. He feels his palms start to sweat and his breath catches in his throat again. He looks for any signs that the brunet was kidding, but Thomas was either a _very_ good liar or he was telling the truth. Frankly, Newt wasn’t sure which one frightened him more.

Realizing he’d just made everything uncomfortable between them—again—Thomas tried laughing it off, scratching the bridge of his nose. “Well, um,” he stuttered, brown eyes darting in all direction, “I mean, like I said earlier, I probably just imagined it, but, you know… If I didn’t, it—it really is. A nice smile, I mean. You really have a nice smile and, uh, I think you should do it more often. Smile, that is. I think you should smile more often.”

Thomas also had a tendency to ramble on, especially in awkward situations such as this one. Most people would probably find this annoying, but it didn’t really bother Newt. There was a tiny little thought poking him in the back of his mind saying that Thomas’s babbling was actually kind of cute, but he didn’t dare voice that thought. No, instead he nodded his head awkwardly, mumbled a small goodbye, and turned on his heel. While the day itself had been a relatively decent one, he really wished it hadn’t ended on such an uncomfortable note.

ᴥ

"I was not flirting with him."

"Tom, please, you were totally flirting with him."

Thomas stacked the dishes as angrily as he could without breaking them. Okay, so he wasn’t angry, but he sure was annoyed. Teresa had come home shortly before Newt left, and as it turned out she’d been watching and eavesdropping on them. This probably wouldn’t be too big of a deal if she hadn’t heard him say he wished the blond would smile more. Naturally Thomas wasn’t embarrassed by this, he honestly did wish he’d smile more, but it was apparently Teresa’s duty as a younger sister to pester him about it. Nonstop.

He could still hear her giggling as she finished up on washing the silverware. “What are you getting so upset about?” she asked, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. “It’s not like I’m going to go around the school and tell everybody.”

"Kind of like you _weren't_ going to go around the school and tell everybody I sing in the shower?"

"Hey, that doesn't count. That was a _secret_ and you know I can't keep a secret. You flirting with Newt isn't a secret."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"Oh, whatever."

Once all the silverware were washed, Thomas quickly dried them and tossed them into the drawer by the refrigerator. All he wanted to do was go to bed, bury himself under his blankets and never come out, or at least not until Teresa moved on to something else. He didn’t see how what he’d said to Newt could be taken as flirting. He honestly thought the blond had a pretty smile, and he honestly wished he’d smile more, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be that easy.

Thomas liked Newt. He was glad he decided to talk to him. Underneath that quiet and somewhat sassy exterior, he was genuinely kind and easy to talk to, and it was because of this that he didn’t understand why so many people avoided him. Was it because he was depressed, that he attempted to take his own life? It wasn’t a very good reason. A pathetic one, actually.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and he lied into bed for the night Thomas realized that he hadn’t even asked for Newt’s phone number, let alone if he had a phone. Hell, he didn’t ask for anything; Skype, Facebook, nothing. _Crap,_ he thought. _How am I supposed to get a hold of him?_

He supposed that he could simply check to see if Newt was on Facebook (How many Isaac Newton Lancaster’s could there possibly be in the world?), but he figured it would be a waste of time. The blond didn’t really seem to be the social media type, anyway.

Sighing in defeat and turning over in his bed, Thomas accepted defeat. Maybe he’d bump into the blond by chance over the weekend.


End file.
